


A Kiss at Midnight

by PrettyPoppy



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Holidays, Modern Westeros, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22041181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyPoppy/pseuds/PrettyPoppy
Summary: It’s New Year’s Eve, and a chance encounter with Tyrion Lannister is about to change Sansa Stark’s life forever.  Modern AU.
Relationships: Tyrion Lannister/Sansa Stark
Comments: 29
Kudos: 150





	A Kiss at Midnight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Foxyhunter99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxyhunter99/gifts).
  * Inspired by [New Year, New Beginning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21866359) by [Foxyhunter99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxyhunter99/pseuds/Foxyhunter99). 



> I know that just about everyone is waiting for the next chapter of “The Bastard of Winterfell,” but with the Christmas holiday, I haven’t even had a chance to work on it yet. Foxyhunter99 recently posted a lovely New Year’s Eve Sanrion fic called “New Year, New Beginning,” and I was so inspired by that fic that (with her blessing) I had to try my hand at writing my own. I will get back to working on “The Bastard of Winterfell” very soon. The next chapter should be up in a week or two. In the meantime, I just want to wish everyone a very happy new year!
> 
> This story is dedicated with much love and appreciation to Foxyhunter99, whose “New Year, New Beginning” was the inspiration for this story.

Sansa Stark stood by one of the garden walls overlooking Blackwater Bay, wishing she were anywhere else in the world at that moment. Through the open doors of the Red Keep, she could hear the muffled roar of revelers preparing to welcome in the new year, their voices carrying across the gardens on the still night air. But Sansa had no desire to join them. All she wanted was to be alone, to have the safety and solitude to imagine that she were somewhere else and that she hadn’t just had her heart broken.

As Sansa stared up at the hazy moon shimmering above the water, she heard footsteps behind her and her heart nearly stopped. She closed her eyes for a moment, silently praying that it wasn’t Joffrey. _Let it be anyone but Joffrey._ She couldn’t face him. Not now. Not after what she had just witnessed inside his solar.

Sansa turned to see who had disturbed her peace and was surprised to find Joffrey’s uncle, Tyrion, nearly stumbling to a halt as their eyes met. There was a bottle of champagne in his right hand and a glass in his left. He was wearing a tux—just like all the other men at the Lannisters’ New Year’s Eve party—but he’d opened his tie, its ends hanging loosely about his neck, and undone the top two buttons of his dress shirt. His hair was an unruly mess of golden curls, as always, and even though he looked slightly unkempt, he was still as handsome as ever. Sansa didn’t know what he was doing there, but she secretly hoped he would just turn around and leave. Although she didn’t know Tyrion Lannister all that well, she knew him well enough to know that he was far too clever for his own good and that, if she allowed him to talk to her, she’d end up confessing things she had no desire to confess.

“I’m . . . I’m sorry,” Tyrion stammered, taking a step back. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I didn’t realize anyone was out here.”

“Sneaking away from the party?” Sansa asked archly, surprised to discover the infamous Tyrion Lannister headed into the shadows without a female companion on his arm. “Or are you meeting someone here?”

Tyrion shook his head, a rueful smile ghosting his lips. “No, not tonight. And you? Are you waiting for my nephew? Am I interrupting some clandestine assignation? If that is the case, I shall remove myself forthwith.”

Tyrion turned to leave, but suddenly, Sansa had the inexplicable urge to ask him to stay.

“Tyrion, wait.”

He turned around, looking up at her with kind, soulful eyes. “Yes, my lady?”

Sansa almost smiled. Almost. There was something so chivalrous about Tyrion Lannister. Or perhaps the word Sansa was looking for was _courtly_. There was definitely something courtly about him. He had always struck her as coming from another time and another place, and whenever he addressed her as _my lady_ , it always made her feel as if she’d stepped right into a fairytale.

“You don’t have to go,” Sansa said. “I’m not waiting for anyone, especially not Joffrey.”

Tyrion’s eyes narrowed on her, and Sansa was certain that he was trying to figure out what was wrong. She and Joffrey had been seeing each other for nearly a year now. Sansa had expected an engagement ring at Christmas, but it had never come. Instead, Joffrey had given her a gold pendant, embossed with the Lannister lion, just like the one his mother wore. A beautiful and generous gift, to be sure, but not the one Sansa had hoped for. And then, tonight, when they should have been spending the evening together, preparing to ring in the new year, Joffrey had—

Sansa didn’t even want to think about it. Her emotions were still too raw. She was hurt and humiliated and angry, and she never wanted to see Joffrey Baratheon again.

“Did . . . did something happen?” Tyrion asked, still keeping his distance.

Sansa turned back toward the stone wall, her attention focused on the water below. She wanted to tell someone what had happened—she _needed_ to tell someone—but she couldn’t face Tyrion as she said the words. “About an hour ago, Joffrey disappeared from the party, and I went to look for him. I wanted to make sure that we were together when the clock struck midnight. But when I found him, he wasn’t alone. He was—” An involuntary sob racked Sansa’s body, and she inhaled a long, slow breath, trying to get her emotions under control. When she was certain that she could talk without crying, she said, “He was in his solar, under the skirts of one of the housemaids.”

Sansa heard Tyrion gasp, and her cheeks flamed with heat as she waited for him to say something. Joffrey had made a fool of her. He hadn’t seen her enter his solar, of course. He hadn’t heard the heartbreaking sound that had escaped her throat when she’d caught him in the arms of another woman. He hadn’t even witnessed the tears running down her cheeks as she’d fled from the room. But he had still made a fool of her. Now, more than anything, Sansa just wanted to forget she had ever met Joffrey Baratheon. She wanted to run home to Winterfell and never set foot in King’s Landing again.

It took Tyrion a moment to reply, but finally, he said, “I’m sorry, Sansa. Truly, I am. My nephew is an ass.”

The corner of Sansa’s mouth quirked in a smile, but she fought it back. She refused to let Tyrion cheer her up. She was angry, and she wanted to continue to be angry, well into the new year.

Tyrion moved forward, and the next thing Sansa knew, he was standing beside her in front of the stone wall.

Sansa turned to look at him, glad that there weren’t tears in her eyes. She’d already cried all the tears she could muster for Joffrey. She refused to cry any more.

“What are you doing out here?” Sansa asked, desperate to change the subject to something other than her own pitiful life.

Tyrion shrugged. “I wanted to be alone with my true love.”

The breath caught in Sansa’s throat, and for a moment, she couldn’t even move. She stared down at Tyrion, at the wry smile on his lips and the twinkle in his eyes, and for a single instant, she couldn’t help but wonder if he was talking about her. Although Tyrion Lannister was not like other men—being a dwarf had always set him apart—he was worldly and intelligent and one of the sexiest men she had ever met. His dark, expressive eyes and his deep, sonorous voice were enough to make any woman swoon. He was older and wiser than Sansa, and he had a reputation for keeping company with only the most sophisticated women. Until that moment, Sansa had been certain that he saw her as nothing more than a backwards northerner, but what if he saw her as something more?

“Your . . . your true love?” Sansa asked, the words tripping off her tongue.

“Yes,” he said, lifting the bottle in his hand so that she could get a better look at it, “my true love.”

Sansa’s heart sank like a dead weight, and she felt like such a fool. She frowned, unable to hide her disappointment. “I thought your true love was Dornish Red,” she said, trying to distract him from the guilty blush in her cheeks.

Tyrion laughed, lowering the bottle. “I must say, Miss Stark, I’m surprised that you noticed. Yes, Dornish Red is my favorite, but I’ll tell you a secret.” He leaned in just a little closer in a conspiratorial gesture. “The truth is, I’ve never met a bottle of wine that I didn’t like. And since it’s New Year’s Eve, what else could I drink but champagne?”

He pulled back, giving Sansa some much needed space. She’d never been alone with Tyrion Lannister before, though she’d spent more than her fair share of time quietly observing him in mixed company. Something about him had always fascinated her.

“I came out here to get away from my family,” Tyrion said, a sad smile on his face. “As much as I love them—and believe me, I do—sometimes I just can’t stand them. Between my father’s thinly veiled insults and my sister’s theatrics, there’s nothing better than finding a quiet spot where I can drink myself into oblivion, you know?”

Sansa didn’t know. Oh, she knew all too well about Tywin and Cersei Lannister, but as for drinking herself into oblivion, she knew nothing about that. Sansa had always been the picture of propriety, more concerned with her reputation than with partying. She was Ned and Catelyn Stark’s daughter, and she had done everything she could to make them proud. And yet now, despite all her efforts to be the perfect daughter, she’d be returning to Winterfell in shame, disgraced and humiliated by the man who had claimed to love her.

Without allowing herself a moment to reconsider, Sansa reached out, gesturing toward the bottle in Tyrion’s hand. “May I join you?”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow in question, but he said nothing. Instead, he lifted the bottle and began to fill the champagne flute in his hand. Thankfully, the cork had already been popped, and it wasn’t long before Tyrion was offering Sansa a glass of the sparkling wine. “It would be an honor to ring in the new year with you, Miss Stark.”

“Sansa, please,” she said, reaching for the glass. As her fingers wrapped around the flute, they briefly brushed against Tyrion’s and a spark of something almost electric tingled across her skin. Sansa held her breath, trying to keep her demeanor calm as she quickly but gracefully pulled away.

“Sansa,” Tyrion repeated after her, the sound of her name on his lips sending a swirl of heat straight to Sansa’s heart.

Sansa did her best to ignore the sensation, knowing that it was silly to feel something so strong for one man when she’d just had her heart broken by another. She steeled her emotions and offered Tyrion a grateful smile. “Thank you, Tyrion. I’d much rather welcome in the new year here with you than in there with . . . well, with anyone, really.”

Tyrion hefted the bottle into the air and said, “A toast! To you, Sansa Stark. To a wonderful new year, filled with love and joy and all the happiness in the world!”

He smiled brightly, and even though Sansa was determined to remain unmoved, Tyrion’s optimism was infectious, and she offered him the hint of a smile in return.

Sansa raised her glass. “And to you, Tyrion Lannister. May this year bring you all the joy you’ve ever dreamed of.”

Tyrion’s eyes darkened, and rather than looking happy, he looked undeniably sad. He looked almost as if he couldn’t imagine any of his dreams ever coming true, and Sansa’s heart ached for him.

Sansa expected Tyrion to say something, but he didn’t. He just nodded his thanks and lifted the bottle a little higher in salute. Then, he brought it to his lips and took a long swig as Sansa downed half the champagne in her glass.

The alcohol went straight to Sansa’s head, making her just a little bit dizzy. She wasn’t used to downing drinks like a co-ed on Spring Break. Ordinarily, when she did drink, all she ever took were dainty sips. But tonight, she didn’t care about being a lady. She needed to numb her pain, and alcohol seemed to be the quickest way to do it.

When Tyrion stopped drinking, Sansa finally lowered her glass. She looked down at him, wondering how she could have fallen so hard for someone like Joffrey Baratheon when Tyrion Lannister had been right in front of her the whole time. He was so kind and considerate, so gentle and sweet. Joffrey had never been sweet. He’d always been selfish and demanding, and Sansa had always just accepted it because he had a pretty face and was the most eligible bachelor in all of King’s Landing. She’d been such a fool. She knew that now, and even though she was still hurting, she was more than a little thankful that she had realized the truth about him before their relationship had progressed any further.

Tyrion cocked his head to the side and stared up at her curiously. “Are you all right, Sansa?”

Sansa smiled just a little. “Yes, I’m fine. I’m more than fine. I think . . . I think the gods were watching over me tonight. I think they saved me from a truly terrible fate, and I shall be forever grateful.”

Tyrion smiled warmly in return. “You are wise beyond your years, Sansa Stark. And if anyone ever tells you differently, you can send them to me and I shall set them right,” he said, straightening his head and squaring his shoulders in determination.

Sansa knew what kind of reputation she had around the Red Keep. Everyone thought she was shallow and scatterbrained, the kind of girl who was more concerned with appearances than with anything of substance. Nothing could have been further from the truth, of course, and it was nice to know that at least Tyrion had noticed.

“Thank you, Tyrion. But I don’t need anyone to defend me. I’m more than capable of defending myself.”

“Of course you are.”

He said it as if there wasn’t any doubt in his mind that she was the smartest, most capable woman in all of King’s Landing, and Sansa’s heart skipped an unexpected beat. No one else had ever looked at her the way Tyrion was looking at her now. There was so much admiration in his eyes that Sansa could scarcely breathe. She wondered if there could be something between them one day, but she didn’t know how to even broach the subject.

In the distance, the sound of the crowd inside the Great Hall grew louder, and Sansa realized that the revelers had begun counting down the last minute till midnight. For the past few weeks, Sansa had imagined spending this moment with Joffrey. So many times, she’d fantasized about him taking her into his arms and kissing her just as the clock struck twelve. But now, Joffrey was gone—or at least, he was off kissing someone else—and Sansa suddenly found herself longing to be in another man’s arms. She knew it was a dangerous thought, but she was tired of playing it safe. For once in her life, she wanted to take a chance, and she wanted to take it with Tyrion Lannister.

“I suppose the old year is almost through,” Tyrion said as they listened to the other party guests count down the seconds.

Sansa’s heart thrummed in her ears, and her skin flushed hotly. She knew it was now or never. This was her chance, her one chance to get closer to Tyrion Lannister, and she wasn’t about to let it go. Before she could lose her nerve, Sansa forced herself to speak. “Would you do something for me, Tyrion?”

Tyrion eyed her quizzically, as if that was the last thing he had ever expected her to say. In an almost breathless whisper, he replied, “Anything.”

Sansa’s heart beat even faster, but she pressed on. “It’s almost midnight on New Year’s Eve. When the clock strikes twelve, will you . . . will you kiss me?”

Tyrion stared at her for a heart-stopping moment, and Sansa was sure that by the time he answered her, it would already be the new year. She could still hear the revelers in the hall— _thirty-two, thirty-one, thirty_ —and she knew they were running out of time.

Just when Sansa thought all hope was lost, Tyrion finally nodded. “Yes,” he said, his voice so soft that it warmed the blood in her veins. “Yes, I will kiss you at midnight, Sansa Stark.”

Sansa exhaled a sigh of relief, her whole body instantly relaxing. But her relief was short-lived. It only took her a second to realize what Tyrion’s _yes_ actually meant. Tyrion Lannister was going to kiss her, and suddenly, Sansa was all nerves again.

With shaking fingers, Sansa reached out and took the champagne bottle from Tyrion’s hand. Then, she placed both the bottle and the glass on the stone wall and took a step closer to him.

They stared at each other in the moonlight, the sound of the distant revelers floating gently toward them on the cool, evening air. The sound suddenly seemed muted, as if the other guests were worlds away, their voices just the faint singing of angels. For a moment, there was no one else in the world but Sansa and Tyrion, their eyes locked together as they waited for the clock to strike midnight.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Tyrion asked, his gaze never wavering from hers.

“Yes,” Sansa replied, keeping her answer short and simple. She knew she could offer Tyrion all manner of explanation as to why she had asked him to kiss her. She could tell him that she was lonely, that she didn’t want to be the pathetic fool who had no one to kiss on New Year’s Eve, but that wasn’t it. That wasn’t why she was doing this. There was something about Tyrion Lannister that had always drawn her to him, that made her pulse race and her stomach swirl with butterflies. This was her one and only chance to see if there could be something real between them or if it was all just her imagination.

Tyrion nodded again. “If my nephew finds out—”

“I don’t care if he finds out. Or if he doesn’t. This isn’t about Joffrey. It’s New Year’s Eve, Tyrion, and I just want you to kiss me.”

Tyrion inhaled a long, slow breath, and when he released it, his whole body shuddered with the effort.

In the distance, the sound of the crowd grew infinitesimally louder— _ten, nine, eight . . ._

Sansa held her breath, knowing the moment had almost arrived. As soon as the clock struck midnight, she would be in Tyrion Lannister’s arms, fulfilling a fantasy she hadn’t even realized she’d had until that very moment.

They didn’t speak, didn’t count down the seconds with the other guests. Instead, they just continued to stare at each other as if neither one of them could quite believe that the moment was real.

Sansa’s heart beat out the seconds as midnight drew closer. _Four, three, two . . . one._

 _Happy New Year!_ the crowd shouted as fireworks cracked the air.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Sansa leaned forward, placing her hands on either side of Tyrion’s face and drawing him closer. She kissed him softly, sweetly, her heart aching with the contact. Tyrion’s hands settled on her waist, and Sansa reveled in the feel of his fingers pressing into her hips. He was a surprisingly strong man, so solid and self-assured. He was nothing like Joffrey, nor any of the other men she had met in King’s Landing.

The kiss lasted far longer than it had any right to, and had they not been in a public space, Sansa would have been reluctant to ever let Tyrion go. But they were in public, and Sansa knew they might be discovered at any moment. She didn’t want the beauty of her experience with Tyrion to be ruined by Joffrey or one of his friends stumbling upon them and calling them all manner of names for their supposed betrayal.

Sansa let the kiss linger just a moment longer before finally pulling away and standing to her full height. Her whole body was suddenly warm with need, and an unfamiliar ache swirled low in her belly. No matter how many times Joffrey had kissed her, he had never been able to stir her passions. And yet, all it had taken was a single, chaste kiss from Tyrion Lannister to set her blood on fire.

Sansa gazed down at Tyrion, mesmerized by the desire she saw in his eyes. She was tempted to look away, the weight of his stare simply too much for her to bear, but she was no coward, and she wanted to treasure every last moment they had left together.

“Happy New Year,” Sansa said, her voice so dark and husky that it scarcely sounded like her own.

“Happy New Year,” Tyrion answered, though he barely seemed conscious of the words. A second later, an uneasy laugh escaped his throat and he dragged his eyes away from hers, running a hand against the back of his neck as if trying to ease the tension there.

It was obvious that he felt uncomfortable, and Sansa couldn’t help but wonder if she had just made a terrible mistake.

Tyrion dropped his hand and looked up at her again, his eyes sparkling with awkward amusement. “You know, if someone had told me this morning that this was how I would be ringing in the new year, I never would have believed them. Me? Tyrion Lannister? Kissing Sansa Stark? I would have told them they were barking mad. But here we are, not a Joffrey in sight, and I can’t say that I’m the least bit sorry.”

“Really?”

“Really. I was going to welcome in the new year all alone, getting drunk and feeling sorry for myself. But this? This is much better.”

Tyrion smiled up at her—a warm, genuine smile, with nothing conniving or calculating about it. There was something so kind and gentle about Tyrion Lannister, something that suddenly made Sansa wish she could spend the rest of her life with him.

“Are you sure you’re all right, Sansa?” Tyrion asked when she didn’t reply.

Sansa nodded. “Yes. I’m fine. More than fine. Thank you, Tyrion, for saving me from my own self-pity.”

“Oh, you don’t have to thank me,” he said, shaking his head. “Actually, I should be thanking you. The most beautiful woman in King’s Landing kissed me at midnight on New Year’s Eve. How fortuitous, don’t you think? I’m sure it’s a sign that it’s going to be a great new year!”

Despite everything Tyrion had said, only one thing registered in Sansa’s mind. “Do you really think I’m beautiful?”

“I think you are the most beautiful woman I have ever met in all my life, Sansa Stark. I’ve always thought so. And I’ve always thought you deserved better than Joffrey. You deserve a prince among men. You deserve to be worshipped and adored. You are sweet, kind, caring, and oh-so-very serious sometimes, and I’ve never met anyone more beautiful, inside and out. It is an honor just to be here with you right now.”

Sansa was stunned by Tyrion’s words. No man had ever said any such thing to her before, and she was amazed that Tyrion Lannister, of all people, could feel that way about her. He was a Lannister, for godssakes! He was one of the richest, most powerful men in all the world. He could have any woman he wanted. And yet, there he was, telling her that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever met in his long and eventful life. Had the words come from anyone else, Sansa would have thought them idle flattery, but there was something so sincere about the look in Tyrion’s eyes that Sansa couldn’t doubt a single thing he had said.

“I . . . I never knew you felt that way,” Sansa replied, nearly stumbling over the words.

Tyrion’s smile turned to an impish grin, and he looked almost embarrassed. “Well, how could I say such things to my nephew’s girlfriend? It wasn’t my place. But now . . . well, now things are different, aren’t they?”

Yes, they were different. Very different. And Sansa’s heart beat a little faster at the possibility that things might change between her and Tyrion. Was he offering her more than friendship? Even though Sansa had thought herself desperately in love with Joffrey just an hour earlier, suddenly, she could barely remember what she had felt for him. Her memory had gone all hazy, and all she could focus on were the beautiful, soulful eyes of the man standing before her. She wanted to kiss him again, one last time before they were discovered, but she didn’t know if that’s what Tyrion wanted.

“Yes, I suppose they are different now,” Sansa answered, not sure of what else to say.

She heard voices approaching in the distance, and Tyrion must have heard them too because he turned his head and looked back toward the keep.

Sansa knew this was her last chance. If she didn’t do something drastic, Tyrion Lannister might walk out of her life forever tonight and she might never see him again.

“I guess the spell’s about to be broken,” Tyrion said as he turned back to look at her. “It’s a shame, really. I was so enjoying—”

Without waiting to ask for permission, without giving him a chance to retreat, Sansa reached out and took Tyrion’s face in her hands again, kissing him hard. Tyrion gasped as she made contact, stumbling back just a step. His hands instinctively went to Sansa’s hips again to steady himself. Once he was stable, he kissed her back just as fiercely, and soon, his lips were moving against hers, one hand in her hair as his tongue invaded her mouth.

Sansa moaned, startled by Tyrion’s passion but not the least bit daunted by it. She curled her fingers into his hair, drawing him closer, the blood rushing madly through her veins. She could hear the voices getting nearer, and she knew that she and Tyrion didn’t have much time. One more second, one more moment, and she would have to let him go. It was the last thing she wanted, but neither one of them could afford to be discovered.

Tyrion kissed Sansa until she was almost dizzy. Then, just as the voices reached them, he pulled away, stepping back so that there was a foot of space between them.

Sansa stared down at Tyrion in stunned silence. His eyes were glassy with desire, and his cheeks were flushed with heat. He looked like there was so much he wanted to say, but there was no time to say it. In an instant, a large group of revelers entered their little corner of the garden and they were no longer alone.

Tyrion looked away, staring out over Blackwater Bay, and Sansa turned toward the crowd. She exhaled a small sigh of relief when she saw that Joffrey wasn’t among them. The last thing she wanted was to face him in Tyrion’s company. Truth be told, if she had her way, she’d never see Joffrey again. She’d go back to Winterfell and send him a nice long letter telling him exactly why she was breaking things off.

Sansa’s best friend, Margaery Tyrell, was among the revelers who had just entered the garden. Margaery took one look at Sansa and Tyrion and raised a silent brow in question. Even though Sansa and Tyrion had tried to hide what they’d been doing, she was sure that it was more than obvious to a shrewd observer like Margaery.

 _Are you okay?_ Margaery silently mouthed from the other side of the patio.

As far as Margaery knew, Sansa was still head over heels for Joffrey, so why shouldn’t she be concerned? Sansa offered her a warm smile and a quick nod, just to reassure her.

Margaery’s lips quirked in a wry grin, and Sansa was sure she was going to ask for details later.

Sansa turned away from Margaery and looked at Tyrion again. He must have felt her eyes upon him because he finally looked up. The emotion in his eyes was suddenly gone, hidden behind a mask of well-practiced reserve.

“Well, I should probably be going,” he said. “I’m sure you’d much rather spend the rest of the evening with your friends.”

“They’re not my friends,” Sansa said softly. “Well, except for Margaery. No, Tyrion, I’d much rather spend the rest of the evening with you.”

A spark of disbelief flickered behind Tyrion’s eyes, and he quickly replied, “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. Your reputation—”

“To hell with my reputation.”

Tyrion inhaled a sharp breath, his mouth gaping open in a little _o_. Sansa could see that she had shocked him, not an easy task where Tyrion Lannister was concerned.

Sansa knew what Tyrion was worried about. She was Ned Stark’s daughter, and she was technically still dating Joffrey. If anyone even thought that there was something between them, it would be scandalous, but at that moment, Sansa didn’t care. All she wanted was to escape the crowds and find a nice quiet spot to be alone with Tyrion. She wasn’t hoping for anything untoward to happen between them. They barely knew each other, after all. But she wanted to get to know him better. She wanted to be close to him, to hold his hand, to run her fingers through his hair, to kiss him again. It was all she wanted, and she was fairly certain that he wanted it too.

Sansa turned toward the stone wall and picked up the half-empty bottle and the single champagne flute. Then, she looked at Tyrion again. “Let’s sneak out of here while we still can. They’re already drunk,” she said, cocking her head toward the group of partygoers who had invaded their solitude. “They’re not going to remember anything come morning.”

Tyrion gulped. “Are you sure?” he asked, the words barely audible.

“I’m sure.”

“Well,” Tyrion replied, “what kind of gentleman would I be if I refused the request of a lady?” He turned so that he was facing the crowd and offered her his arm. “May I escort you back to the keep, Sansa Stark?”

Sansa offered Tyrion the bottle of champagne, and he took it with his right hand. Then, she allowed him to slip his left hand around her arm, and together, they headed back to the keep, Sansa skirting a knowing glance for Margaery as they left the garden.

“I know the perfect place where we can be alone,” Tyrion said, his voice low and soft.

“And where is that?”

A knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he finally looked up at her again. “The library, of course. It’s New Year’s Eve, and I can promise you, no one will disturb us there.”

“I like that idea very much.” Sansa smiled brightly, letting Tyrion lead the way. “I think this is going to be a wonderful new year after all, don’t you?”

“Oh, I think it’s going to be a wonderful new year indeed.”


End file.
